Epitaph
by Miss Minerva
Summary: Locke wakes from a fall after the Balance has been lost. These are his first thoughts and experiences in the Ruin. Elsewhere, on the solitary island, Celes longs to be free from the cage she has long been contained in. *New second part added*
1. Default Chapter

**Disclaimer: **The characters contained in this story are the sole property of Squaresoft. No copyright infringement is intended. I'm only "borrowing" them for the purpose of storytelling.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Epitaph

  
  
  
  


"Reading the epitaphs, 

our only salvation

lies in resurrecting the dead

and burying the living."

-Paul Eldridge

  
  
  
  
  
  


He remembered the fall. Crash, bang. The wind against his face. Flailing limbs.

He remembered many times when falling was a thing he'd loathed so much. A thing he'd give anything to forget. The things he loved, it seemed, tended to fall out of his grasp. His mothers necklace had fallen from his hands into the street, shattering into a million pieces; She too, had fallen and broken her legs, though Locke had known, even then, who had done the pushing; The girl with the dark chocolate hair, the one he had loved, had fallen off the bridge, right out of his hands; and the Esper girl had fallen through the floor of the cave. He remembered her battered body lying there so clearly. The last, of course, that shock of pale blond hair as she had fallen fast away from him. He could only pray that the landing had been ....., well you know the thing about landings.

His own had been very, well, not so gentle.

Then blackness, darkness. Fading fast.

  
  
  
  


_Will be alright, my son._

_...You think so, mum?_

_Have faith, my love_. _Patience..._

_But will you come with me?_

_I'm afraid I've had my fair share of treasure hunting, son._

_But where will I go? I don't know anywhere, mum._

_I'll show you where to go. Look for me, dear. I'll be there._

_How will I know where to find you ?_

_In the dusty road, Locke. In the cloudy sky._

_And where will you go now, mum?_

_I'm afraid my epitaph's already been written, son._

  
  
  
  


__When Locke had awoken from the cold, tragic statethat had been his dream he prayed that it had all been a nightmare. All of it, he wished it gone. No Empire; no airship; no death; no falling......no treasure hunting. He even went so far as to wish for no Rachel. He wished that he had not heard about the Returners or even left his home in the middle of the night some 15 years ago. He jumped to his feat through shattered pieces of wood and dust, violently lashing out and tossing these things from himself towards the rugged walls. Screaming bloody murder at nobody at all. Yelling at the empty walls and struggling against the weight of the rocks that held his foot tight to the ground. Having dislodged this, he slammed himself into the dusty soot-covered wall of the mine shaft and bawled yet more nonsense. His whole life, it seemed, had begun to cave in. Nothing made sense anymore and what small shred of hope and dignity he still held was severely questionable. Emotionally and physically exhausted, he lay amongst the cold rocks and absorbed his pain. Blood oozed from the deep wounds that he had accumulated from the fall and through his frenzied struggle. He bit his lip in pain until he could taste the warm metallic liquid there too. Soon the pain seized him and the world blissfully faded to white. He rested.

  
  
  
  


_Don't fight the epitaph, son. It's already been written...._

  
  
  
  


The sun was setting, purple-red. Locke stood stoically facing the sea. The wind on his face felt good after the staleness, the air of the mines. The salt of the ocean had stung his wounds, but healing required it to do so. He now felt renewed, somewhat, having washed and tended to his wounds. Bloody stomach was still empty, though. Despite some pain and heartache, he was ready to trudge onward. After all, what was one more loss? One more hand to let go? No, he wouldn't linger in his pain. Onward towards new horizons was where his feet would take him, as always. Wherever that may be. 

Then there was the matter of Rachel and the fiery bird. The rebirth. Was it even worth searching for anymore? His path thus far had been a long and weary one to travel by and he was nearly ready to succumb to his need for rest. But no, there was no way he could ever give up hope, if indeed there was any. That was all he had now. All he ever would have.

He picked up a stone, skipped it across the violet sea. Splash, crash, and drown. It sung across the cold waters. Would he ever reach his destination, or simply descend beneath the waves like this pebble? Laughingly, he turned from the ocean's reflection and scolded himself for his metaphorical thoughts. Silly bastard. Or maybe just needing to get out of here?

Either way, he began his journey along the coastline. 

  
  


And in the air, the eerie voices followed him. Traveling, wandering, looking for a home. But like the voice of any man whose path he crossed, like the world's own warning, he never stopped to heed them. Onward, onward.

  
  
  
  


_Locke, Locke_...... _Where are you?_

_He's with me now, child._

_And that would be where, exactly?_

_On the road to the epitaph._

_Epitaph? Oh, please say it's isn't..._

_Epitaph leading to the sea.... the wide open blue._

_I don't believe in it. I can't believe..._

_You cannot fight it._

_I will not give in to this. Please..._

_Why do you hold on?_

_I have to. Tell me.... Where is he..._

_In the morning sunrise. The epitaph._

_You're crazy..... you're.... _

_His Mother. Girl, he's coming home... Home._

_So he has left me, then. Long gone. Eternally._

_You have my eyes, child. The sadness. _

_There's nothing left here for me to live for._

_Darling girl, there never was._

  
  
  
  


Impetuous in nature, he had alwayswalked alone; unafraid. Now, with nothing left to travel towards he knew once more the finality of his wandering curse. If only there would be a home to one day return to. Walking blindly for so long, he had grown weary of the struggle. His never-ending journey. But even more determined now to find some possible reason for going on. Something. But why was he running? 

Locke stood atop a lonely outcrop of rocks overlooking the valley, dark. Something about the beating pulse of night, the quiet, awakened him. Led him onward. For the first time since he had awakened his thoughts turned to the girl. The other. The one with the soft pale hair and the cold blue eyes. Like ice. And for a time he thought of her. Then with the struggles of the day before him, he turned away. Away from any more pain. As if the hole left there were not so. He laughed. Laughed until he was sick. Now he was the one numb to the feeling. For all the world, just frozen. Ice cold.

  
  
  
  


_Carry me with you, son._

_Carry them all._

_Lovely girl you know, I saw her. She spoke to me._

_Told me she wanted a home more than anything there was._

_She was a beautiful, clever girl. The saddest eyes._

_Cold, cold blue._

_She went on in search of Epitaph too._

_The road is dusty, long._

_It will bring you home._

  
  
  
  


There, for one moment, he realized where he was really headed and for once wanted to accept it. Forget the fairy tales that had kept him going for this long. Then he thought of his Grandmother's soft voice urgently trying to convince him of the truth in the tales she had spun for him in front of the fireplace. And they had come true, had they not? Yes, but where was Nanna now? Were there any tales left to hope towards? Or any left for him to even fear? 

Locke stood there in darkness, black, and realized where he would go now. Where his Mother had gone. The moon looked down above and lit his face. He saw the path stretching beyond him. In the dusty road. The cloudy sky. Epitaph. 

He was going home.

  
  
  
  
  
  


"A man travels the world over in search

of what he needs and returns home 

to find it."

  
  


-George Moore

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Author's Note: Locke, Locke, Locke..... how many fanfics will you star in before you retire? While I do believe that there are almost too many fanfics about Locke out there (Wait! I said "almost"!) I honestly think that there are many things that nobody has tackled yet. Locke's my favorite (male) character by far (sorry but Celes is the champion, my friends). 

  
  


This story digs into Locke's past and what he was faced with upon awakening in the world of ruin. The whole psychedelic mother thing was something I feel could have likely been going through his grief-stricken mind (let's face it, the guy was going through hell here!) Also, I've never read a fanfic where any mention of his mother was given. This is something I know is obscure but I feel he had a close relationship with her in the past, which lends itself to his relationships with the female characters in the game. Also, the game gives several references to his grandmother but I haven't seen her mention in a fanfic either. His father, of whom I give a subtle reference (the one doing the pushing) , I believe wasn't a very loving person. This fact shows itself in Locke's character. I believe I've seen at least one other fanfic which shares this view. 

  
  


Of course, Locke is not the type of character to speak of his past in this way, so this story brings out the things that Locke keeps hidden within himself. Anyway, that's one of my takes on Locke. Feel free to comment.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. 

**Disclaimer: **The characters contained in this story are the sole property of Squaresoft. No copyright infringement is intended. I'm only "borrowing" them for the purpose of storytelling.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Epitaph: Part Two**

  
  


**"Caged Birds"**

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"I cannot sing the old songs,

  
  


Or dream those dreams again."

  
  


- Mark Twain

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Celes crouched, knees half-bent, staring at the rain-worn epitaph. A patch of land here on the island bore from it old gravestones. A patch of dead. This island, the solitary heap of rocks and sand, had once been part of the Greater Continent. Celes could feel it. Where then, had these graves been snatched away from? Left here to sit in decay, alone. The field here was grassy, a soft pad of death. Isolated. 

  
  


Celes moved her hand over the writing on the grave, smooth marble. Simone Sheeva. Celes ran her fingers through each indentation in the stone, each letter separately. Sheeva, what and unusual name. So much like Shiva, the Esper of icy dreams. Ice. Her ice. She sank into the grass, pressed her head to the cold marble. 

  
  


"Oh dear, poor you. Poor me." She tried to imagine this girl, this Simone. According to the dates given on the stone, she would have been only twenty three when she had died, one year older than Celes should be now. Could that be? She had lost three years. The girl then, her age, had died long ago. In the early days of the Empire, when she was still a child. A child born into war. A caged bird. 

  
  


A flash of light passed through her minds eye, suddenly. A face. Woman with tousled sandy hair, soft sad eyes. Familiar eyes. She wore a pale blue necklace. A chain of keys.

  
  


_You seem surprised, dear. _

  
  


_Yes. What is this?_

  
  


_You'll see it all soon, more clearly, dear. _

  
  


_What more clearly? What?_

  
  


_Just how poor we all are._

  
  


Celes opened her eyes and jumped to her feet. The voice. Had it been the same that she'd heard that morning on the mountain? 

  
  


The morning had been cold, bitter. The dew had not left the ground, and it had been cold to her bare feet. She ran up the sloping side of the cliff, away from the wasting figure of Cid, lying prostrate in the hut below. Died of boredom and despair, the others had. What a cruel fate. Celes was breathless and soaked when she reached the top. Threw herself across a rock there, trembling with cold and fright. Her now frail body was racked with the sobs; she spilled all she had upon the rock that morning. General Celes, now crying. How far gone it all was. She thought of him, of Locke. If only he were here. If only . . .

What if he had been one of those travellers washed ashore, dead from sorrow. Washed to sea. She gripped the rock tightly, her nails pulling from their cuticles. Oh pain, her pain, only hers. She felt like the last person on earth here, aside from Cid, who was fading fast. And if Locke was gone too, what more was there?

  
  


To the heavens she cried. "Locke, Locke . . . Are you out there? Where are you? Please, tell me!"

  
  
  
  


_He's here, with me, child._

  
  


_Oh no, that can't be so. Where is this place you speak of?_

  
  


_In the cloudy sky. The rocky path. The sand. The water . . ._

  
  


_Enough. No. Don't tell me any more._

  
  


_But child, that's the way things are._

  
  


_Is it all gone then? Are we over? Everything . . ._

  
  


_We live out the nightmares we create for ourselves. The ones created for us._

  
  


_Oh I wish you hadn't . . ._

  
  
  
  
  
  


Celes was alone. "Can't be true. Mustn't be alone . . . " She slept, wet on the rock that morning. The thought of death this large, the slow crawl toward one's own epitaph, had drawn her into the meadow of graves. The soft sanctuary.

  
  


That voice had been . . . 

  
  


Celes put it from her mind for a while. Blamed the solitude for her delusions. Then morning came and Cid had gone. Gone. All gone.

  
  
  
  


On the mountain, the cliff face, she faced the horizon. Swaying in the breeze. Her veins felt cold and her body shook. No more, no more, she cried. Her mouth made no motion to speak. A small bird lay limp in the grass. A small bird. A caged bird. She scanned the air for a sign, any sign. Hair blowing fiercely, pale golden strands. Her eyes were dark, red, swollen. Not the pure pale beacons they once were. Empty shells. This is what happened to birds in a cage, then?

  
  
  
  


_The epitaphs have already been written, love._

  
  


_No. Is it so?_

  
  


_Always has been._

  
  


_Then there isn't any way?_

  
  


_Sometimes there is, luv, but not always._

  
  


_Oh, I wish . . ._

  
  
  
  
  
  


Silence. The voice was gone. Gone. She was completely alone. She closed her eyes. Stepped towards the edge.

  
  


Then over. Then blackness, rushing waves.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_Wake up, love. It isn't time yet._

  
  


_But you said . . ._

  
  


_Yes, it's coming. But you aren't ready, I can see._

  
  


_I want . . . I want . . ._

  
  


_You want to be with Locke, don't you, luv?_

  
  


_Yes._

  
  


_Then look for him. One must always have someone. Some family, to call their own._

  
  


_Oh, thank you. Thank you. I promise I will find that._

  
  


_We all wish for that, luv. Your happiness is my happiness._

  
  


_Simone?_

  
  


_Yes, luv?_

  
  


_You're his mother, aren't you?_

  
  


_Now luv, how did you know?_

  
  


_I . . . The epitaph. It said so. Basically._

  
  


_Go to him, then. Will be alright. He needs you._

  
  


Celes opened her eyes. Sandy, worn, salty eyes. Not moving, not fit to face the day, but alive. She was alive. And that is what she must appreciate. The epitaphs may already be written, may lie ahead, but she had a trail left to follow yet. She wouldn't stay here, caged. She would find him. Find something. That's all there was left to do.

  
  


On the beach, above her, landed a bird. It flew gracefully, and she smiled at its grace. She saw the bandana next, and picked it up. Closed her eyes. Just how poor we are. Just how strong. Family. Lovers. All there is. She pictured Locke's sweet face, like his mothers. Her sad eyes were his eyes. She would find the living now, here, on behalf of those that have already died. She would live, finally. She would leave this cage under her own power.

  
  
  
  


_I'd not have thought it possible, girl, but I am long dead. _

_Saddened. Unable to create hope._

_But you have it. It hasn't died._

_And I see it in you. You can find a way out. _

  
  


_Follow the epitaph._

  
  


_Make it yours._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


~*~

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:** I wrote this piece to accompany the story Epitaph, from Celes' point of view. This is, of course a familiar story, but I wanted to write it from the slant I had used in Epitaph. I love Celes dearly, so I couldn't leave her story out. I hope you've enjoyed it. Feedback is much appreciated, as always.

  
  
  
  



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